| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea by Jules Verne: very perfect, and richer even than it would have been in the arctic
or tropical zones, where these productions are not so plentiful.
But for some minutes I involuntarily confounded the genera,
taking animals for plants; and who would not have been mistaken?
The fauna and the flora are too closely allied in this submarine world.
These plants are self-propagated, and the principle of their
existence is in the water, which upholds and nourishes them.
The greater number, instead of leaves, shoot forth blades
of capricious shapes, comprised within a scale of colours pink,
carmine, green, olive, fawn, and brown.
"Curious anomaly, fantastic element!" said an ingenious naturalist,
20,000 Leagues Under the Sea |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Baby Mine by Margaret Mayo: was commanding him to "Come, dance." He heard Alfred's laughter.
He had no intention of accommodating the small person in this or
any other matter, yet, before he realised quite how it had
happened, he was two-stepping up and down the grass to her piping
little voice; nor did she release him until the perspiration came
rolling from his forehead; and, horror of horrors, his one-time
friend, Alfred, seemed to find this amusing, and laughed louder
and louder when Jimmy sank by his side exhausted.
When Jimmy was again able to think consecutively, he concluded
that considerable conversation must have taken place between
Alfred and the small one, while he was recovering his breath and
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from An Historical Mystery by Honore de Balzac: marquetry, among other things that served him to restore the chateau.
In 1792 all the furniture of the house had been taken or destroyed,
for the pillage of the mansions in town was imitated in the valley.
Each time that the old man went to Troyes he returned with some relic
of the former splendor, sometimes a fine carpet for the floor of the
salon, at other times part of a dinner service, or a bit of rare old
porcelain of either Sevres or Dresden. During the last six months he
had ventured to dig up the family silver, which the cook had buried in
the cellar of a little house belonging to him at the end of one of the
long faubourgs in Troyes.
That faithful servant, named Durieu, and his wife had followed the
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